Crime
by DarkFlameOfTheMonkey
Summary: Nothing like a support group for broken hearts. Together we can accomplish anything! A different approach: Did you ever consider that he didn't love you? Simple, yet rarely occurs to you. Jasmine tea. Bad wallpaper. Clayton Carrington on magazine covers.


**A/N: Three hours of watching the Disney Hercules animated series can NOT be good for your eyes... Thank me, Captain Obvious... But Hades is so awesome...**

**Inspired by **_**'Golden Age' **_**and **_**'Avenue Q'.**_

**Disclaimer: I do not own SRMTHFG. Contains a couple of random OCs, just to flesh it out. Just think of them as the Shuggazoomian people that are always in the background. Also contains ONE character that was seen in Golden Age (I wonder if any of you actually remember her; there may be some inaccuracies in the fic since I don't have a reference source). Yay minor characters! Really, **_**really **_**minor characters!**

**Psychotic plot bunny on the loose. Please remain calm; be alert but not alarmed. I spent very scant time on this, so it's probably sub-standard.**

Crime

She brought the teacup to her lips, managing to take at least one sip of the tumultuous liquid. There was a _tempest_ in that cup. The fragrant steam wafted up her nose, and her eyes suddenly blurred and her throat became blocked. She didn't know jasmine tea could trigger sobbing fits that well.

_I still can't believe it. I can't believe I can't get _over _this._

"Pull yourself together, Fannie," came Kate's embarrassed and exasperated hiss.

"No, no, let her cry," another voice interjected. "This is a support group. There are people here to listen to your outpour of emotions." As Lucinna spoke her hands moved through the air in complex (and one had to suspect, pre-determined) patterns of absolute lunacy. As the host, she felt it her duty to nurture open emotions ('emotions' being the most-used word in her vocabulary). Lucinna graciously passed the tissue box over.

Fannie dabbed at her cheeks, sniffled a bit, then raised her arm above her head. She missed a few times before she dried her eye- stalks. The tissue was soft, but at the same time it was harsh. Her skin screamed in pain. She crumpled the tissue in her hand, letting it fall to the carpet.

_I was _so _sure he was going to propose. What man buys Vogon lobster for dinner and doesn't propose?_

Her friend sighed. "And I thought this would _help_ her."

"Nothing like a support group for broken hearts, Kate," Lucinna replied. "Together we can overcome anything!"

"I see a _sob-fest_, not progress." Kate patted her on the arm, albeit half-heartedly. "Come on, Fannie. You're a catch! You're rich, gorgeous, most of all intelligent. There are plenty of fish in the sea, and you have plenty of time to swim around."

"But-" She sniffed, eye-stalks drooping. "But..._Clayton Carrington-_"

"Never came back," her friend finished, a dour expression on her face. "Yadda yadda, he wasn't good enough for you, etcetera, a man doesn't leave a lady to finish dinner by herself... He was also arrogant, egotistic, conceited-"

"Kate, those words all mean the same thing."

"Just to drive my point, Lucinna."

Kate's standard response to "he dumped me" would be, to say casually, "Did you ever consider that he didn't love you? It's an incredibly simple explanation, yet it rarely occurs to people."

It wasn't a _crime_ not to love someone, after all.

Lucinna tried a different approach. "Just let your _emotions_ run _free,_ Fannie." When she stopped talking about emotions, she would say, "Think of it this way. He was _Clayton Carrington_. How many ordinary women get a chance with _Clayton? _You were lucky! I'd kill to have him say hello to me."

This only served to fill her with remorse. Clayton Carrington was the perfect man. Why wasn't she good enough for Clayton Carrington?

"Pass a mag over," Kate said to Lucinna. As hostess, she had to oblige.

Fannie looked up. The cover of _Shuggazoom Woman's Weekly _assaulted her vision with irregular fonts and clashing colours.

**Top** BACHELOR _this_ year...

Kate whisked the magazine out of sight by throwing it behind the couch.

The woman closed all four of her eyes, pulled at her straight blonde hair and collapsed onto the sofa with a groan.

She inevitably had a very nice dream about Clayton Carrington.


End file.
